I, being the oldest of three girls, became his "helper". I would help him fix things. Lots of times the helping was rather hard. I don't think he realized at those times I wasn't a strong teenage boy, just a rather wimpy, skinny girl.
I remember when I had to help him drag pipe from our well up a steep hill. I thought I wasn't going to survive, I felt like I was a pack mule! But I never let on that I was close to certain death from over-working.
This is Daddy and me when I was a baby. I called him "Daddy Don" until my sisters were old enough to talk, and then he became just Daddy.
Then there was the time I had to hold up the rafters for his shop he was building up on the hill by the new house. I was high up on a ladder (not my favorite place at any time) and then had to hold up my arms and support the beams as he settled them in for the roof. I thought for sure my arms would drop off, or I would fall off the ladder, or drop the beam on Daddy's head...
I never did.
Happy Birthday Daddy Don!